


always knew you were a dangerous one

by asymptotes



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF, The Outs
Genre: M/M, basically a yuppie london au, stoner!zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asymptotes/pseuds/asymptotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn is having a rough time. so is harry. at least separately, now.</p>
<p>niall is a breath of fresh air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always knew you were a dangerous one

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is based off of the amazing gay webseries, the outs. comment if you've watched it!
> 
> seriously, watch it: http://theouts.squarespace.com/watch/
> 
> hope you like it!
> 
> i own none of these characters.

Zayn admittedly, is going through a slutty phase.

Although he would call it doing whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted because he had just left a three-year relationship, thank you very much. Call it an intentional rebound period.

  
That’s why he was currently on some bed, in some generic hipster apartment getting fucked by some guy he met at the grocery store earlier. (Grocery shopping consisted of eggs, cigarettes and picking up men for himself nowadays.)

  
Zayn’s lowers himself onto his elbows and rests his forehead on the mattress, as the stranger quickens his rhythm, a bit rougher now. After a few more thrusts, the other man grunts and jerks forward erratically and falls onto the bed beside Zayn, breathing heavily. Zayn rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the empty feeling in his chest and brings a hand down to the small space between himself and the bed and tugs once, twice and comes with a shudder, creating quite a mess. He waits a moment to be polite and gingerly then gets on his feet and pulls up his skinny jeans. The room is silent for a moment before the other man lightly tosses Zayn his cellphone.

“Put your number in, yeah?”

The man gives a slow, languid look up and down Zayn’s now fully clothed body.

“I’d love to uh, see you again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you would.”

Zayn pulls a hand through his mussed hair and looks down blankly at the iPhone in his other hand. His boyfriend, (ex-boyfriend, Zayn reminded himself) had the same stupid pretentious black matte case. Zayn quickly inputs the number before he can stop himself and drops the phone onto the bed, beside the man’s naked torso.

  
The man picks it up smoothly and quirks his eyebrows at the screen.

“You didn’t put a name.”

Zayn ponders for a moment, settling on a feeling somewhere between satisfcation and bitterness and decides quickly.

“Oh right, that’s uh, Harry. Harry...Malik.”

The man shoots him a cool half-lidded glance.

“Harry Malik, huh? That’s a cool name.”  
-  
“Yes, that’s Styles, like as in fashion, with an S. Second door on the right. Alright, thanks.”

Harry leans back heavily on his kitchen counter as he hangs up the phone.

“Right, so-”

He looks across the counter expectantly.

“I’m, uh sensing some woody notes here, notes of - wood.’”

  
Harry’s friend squints his eyes at the bottle of red wine as if it was an eye chart at the optometrist. The man is tall, broader than Harry, with a shock of quiffed brown hair and a goofy smile that can make even his most obnoxious moments tolerable. He continues on in his distinctive flippant manner.

“Oak, perhaps.”

“Is oak even a thing in wine connoisseur discussion?

“Oh, I dunno.”

“Nick, why are you getting a job at a wine shop if you know a load of shite about wine?”

Nick shrugs, rolling his eyes. Harry furrows his brow a bit, as if trying to scold Nick without speaking. Harry’s voice is stern but his nature is undermined by a small smile.

“Mate, right across the street from my apartment. And, I can work on my screenplay when the store’s empty!”

Harry furrows his brow even further.

“Right, how is that going?”

“I lost a few pages last night.”

“That’s - not so good.”

“A minor setback, at most.”

Nick pours himself the rest of the bottle in a tall glass and sits at Harry’s small kitchen table.

“Good luck, then mate. No wine for me, I’m going on a date tonight,.”

Saying the word makes Harry feel a leaden weight in his stomach, somewhere between shame and anxiety.

Nick perks up immediately, smirking knowingly.

“Ooh, that's why you’re home early. Tell me you didn’t, uh-”

“Take a half-day from work, come home, clean everything, try on a bunch of different outfits, then clean everything again because now there’s clothes everywhere, yes. That’s exactly what I did, ok?”

Harry shakes his head at himself. Nick chuckles over the rim of his glass.

“I’m not judging, I slept with a guy at the Starbucks on my street because I liked the way he wrote my name of on my cup.”

“Yikes. Greg?”

“No! Not Greg, I know his name. This guy is literally in my phone as Starbucks.”

“Wow, stay classy.”

Nick just takes another swig of his wine, and glances up at Harry who is still behind the counter.

“This the guy that Louis set you up with?”

Nick has a subtle smirk on his face whenever he mentions Harrys flamboyant co-worker. Harry ignores it.

“Yes, it is. And according to Louis, we’re like basically soulmates, so...” Harry trails off, hearing himself.

Nick gives an obnoxious laugh and Harry pouts.

“I think, as my best friend you need to be more supportive, legally.”

“Better call up one of your fancy lawyer friends.”

Harry has no “lawyer friends”, but Nick likes to bug Harry about the fact that he has a steady job, while Nick himself wants to work at a wine shop because it's close to his flat.  
“I need a new best friend, don’t I,” Harry says mock-seriously.

Nick claps Harry on the back and laughs even louder.

“Oh no, tell me I’m not your best friend.”

Harry gets up, sighing and stares at his reflection in the full length mirror in his hallway and adjusts the collar of his black shirt.

A bit wine drunk, Nick rambles on:

“I don’t even know when your birthday is, mate...Oh shit. Is it today? Is today your birthday?”

  
“Piss off, mate. I still have half my beauty regimen to do.”

  
Harry herds Nick out of the door and into the apartment hallway as politely as possible. Nick mumbles a quick good luck before Harry closes the door.

A few minutes later the doorbells rings.

  
It’s the delivery boy. With the glossy light brown hair and beady eyes. Same one every time. Same headphones, same i-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, same awkward conversation.

Harry reaches into his back pocket, smiling down at the shorter man.

“Uh, are you Harry?”

“Erm, yeah. Wow, already huh.”

“Yeah, we’re right across the street.”

Harry fingers through his wallet, trying to keep an air of nonchalance.

“I know, it’s super convenient.”

The delivery boy just hands him the bag of food and looks like he’d rather be lounging in his room smoking weed.

“Yeah, you must be like, the laziest person ever.”

Harry takes the money and coughs. “Thank you.”

As the other man counts the money, Harry sees some movement down the hallway. It’s Nick. He must’ve forgotten how to get down to the lobby in his drunken stupor. He points at the delivery boy exaggeratedly and mimes giving a blowjob.

Harry panics inwardly but just rolls his eyes and mouths “GO AWAY” as aggressively as he can. Nick slinks away, his shoulders rising and falling in silent laughter.

The delivery boy peers curiously into Harry’s flat.

“Is that Fleet Foxes?”

Harry grins widely. He’s always glad to talk about what music he likes.

“Yeah, it is!”

The other man looks at Harry as if he had three heads.

“So do you want change, or-”

“Oh, no change, I’m fine.”

“Ok.” The delivery boy turns away slowly.

Harry racks his brain for something interesting to say to prolong this conversation. It’s been the longest one yet and is going relatively well.

“Hey, so did you like their second album better, or the EP?”

The younger man pauses, holding his headphones just above his head.

“Uh, the album, obviously.” He gives a slow turn of his head, walking away.

“Right, obviously” Harry murmurs half aloud. The door shuts with a resounding click.

-  
Harry's sitting alone at a pub on the other end of the city. He gazes around at the crowded room for the guy he 's supposed to be meeting. Cursing Louis inwardly for setting him up on a blind date (and so soon, part of him adds), he fidgets with his Iphone trying not to seem too awkward.

His fantasies of leaving swiftly or drinking 4 pints by himself because he was being stood up are interrupted by a small cough made by a sturdy-looking guy with cropped blond hair and smiling blue eyes.

“Hey, um, are you Harry? If you’re not, I’m really sorry. Can’t really remember Louis’ description. Too nervous...I hope that you are or else this would be quite awkward.”

The man scratches the back of his neck, highlighting the subtle bulge of his subtly tanned bicep. Harry smiles sweetly at the man, a wave of gratitude flooding his chest.  
“It isn’t - awkward, I mean. I’m Harry, please sit.

Somewhere across the city, Zayn is sitting on the ledge of the window in his apartment smoking a small joint he had rolled earlier. He's changed out of the day's street outfit and is now wearing a comfy pair of heather grey sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. Zayn takes a long drag and lets his head fall back onto the wall, letting his busy mind be calmed by the soothing music playing through his record player.

He flicks the roach out of the window and exhales one last plume of smoke. His phone buzzes as if on cue.

“I’ll be right there.”

Zayn pushes off the ledge languidly and jogs lightly down the stairs to let his next anonymous rebound in. This time its a handsome black man with small tight twists in his hair. He smiles as Zayn opens the door silently and walks up the stairs.

“Hi. Uh, happy thursday!” He offers brightly as if they were old friends meeting up for a coffee.

Zayn remains silent as they walk up the stairs to his flat. They enter the room and the man continues his overly-cheery small talk.

“I love this neighbourhood. Have you been to-”

“Shh.” Zayn whispers and lightly shoves the mans back against the door.

Zayn sinks to the ground in a fluid movement and the darker man doesn’t make another sound until he gasps roughly.

  
-  
Harry and his date get over the initial clumsiness quickly. They talk about what did for fun in the city, their jobs, and nothing about past relationships, to Harry’s delight.  
Harry excuses himself to the bathroom gracefully after saying something about being weird around “cute boys.” The other man’s musical laughter is still in his ears as he enters the dimly lit room. He immediately checks his reflection, taking in the carefully messy hair, the pull of his black shirt across his chest, his strong jaw line. I still have it, he thinks. Of course I still have it. There was no reason for him not to, but recent events had made Harry shaky with everything, even something he was normally confident with, such as his appearance. Harry resolves to hear his date’s awesome laugh again as he gives himself one last determined look in the mirror and lopes out of the bathroom into the busy pub area.

He gets back to the table with a sly joke on his lips but stops short of delivering it when he sees the coldness in his dates eyes. Harry sits down, eyeing the other man cautiously.

“I’m sorry to do this, but my roommate just called me totally pissed and locked out of our flat, so.”

The man looks Harry steadily in the eye.

“Oh shit,” Harry murmurs.

“Yeah, so I’m gonna go get him. At home.”

Harry pouts, thinking of what to say to continue the night.

“Hey, well I can walk with you to the train-” He suggests, with a hopeful note to his voice.

He’s interrupted by his phones text notification sound. Harry frowns, looking down. He wasn’t expecting any texts.

His mouth drops open as he looks closer at the screen to read the text.

_it’s feeding time fuck face_

Harry pales as he scrolls up through the previous messages from the unfamiliar number. There’s a not so subtle close up of a dick in boxers and multiple filthy texts. Harry swallows and looks up at the other man.

  
“First of all, I’m choosing to believe you about that roommate situation.”

The man nods.

“And second of all,” Harry continues exasperatedly “I haven’t got a clue who these are from!”

The man searches Harry eyes with a mixture of weariness and disappointment in his own.

“It’s okay, Harry. I just think we’re looking for two different things.”

“I’m not-”

“I’m looking for a boyfriend, and you’re looking for someone that’s completely gullible.”

Harry leans back in his chair silently and rubs his hand over his face in confusion.

The man puts on his jacket, casts one look back at the table in disgust and storms out of the pub.  
~  
Harry stumbles outside into the chilly fall night not too long after and dials the offending number.

A man picks up, and breathes: “Ugh, I’m getting myself of right now.”

Harry pulls the phone away from in disgust before demanding: “Who the fuck is this?”

The man chuckles in disbelief.

“Ha, like you don’t remember. Get your ass over here Mr. Malik.”

Harry hangs up and shivers with both cold and anger. He pulls his scarf tighter around his neck stalks off down the dimly light street to the train station, alone.  
-  
The next morning Zayn wakes up to the vibration of his phone. He’d regularly chuck it across the room and go back to sleep but he actually blinks slowly and checks the screen of the offending gadget. It buzzes again and Zayn squints at the caller id tag, his head still on his pillow. The word “don’t” in white capitalized letters flashes across the screen. Zayn purses his lips and lets the call go to voicemail. He gets up and puts on a shirt that was conveniently on the ground. Moments later he’s down the stairs and opening the front door.

Harry looks up at him frostily, all pink cheeks and tufts of vapor in his long peacoat and scarf . Zayn stares back cooly.

  
“It’s bloody freezing out here."

  
“Sorry,” Zayn retorts, not sounding sorry at all.

Harry steps up to walk into the building but Zayn stands still in the doorway, unmoving.

Harry backs up with a sigh and Zayn smirks, moving to the side to let him in.

Harry trails Zayn into the apartment.

“Can we do this quickly? I’m on my lunch break.”

Harry looks around, surveying how the place has held up since he moved out. There’s books everywhere, the majority of them being Zayn’s. There’s a faint musky smell which smells like a mixture of Zayn’s cologne, weed, and the various used bowls and plates of food that were strewn around the apartment.

“Wow, this is a mess,” he continues.

Zayn is leaning against the doorway to the closet, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants with a small smile on his face.

“Squalid is the new clean,” he intones sarcastically.

“It’s disgusting.”

Harry walks towards the closet, looking past Zayn’s bemused expression.

“Can I get in here?”

Zayn remains where he is, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. He looks a bit older now. Like he’s experienced a lifetime of hardening experience. Harry furrows his brows and stares back calmly. Zayn keeps eyeing Harry, drinking in the sight of him like a drunkard who’d been given his first pint of the night. It’s not often that Zayn sees him nowadays, and Harry was intoxicating. After prolonging the moment for a few seconds, Zayn smoothly steps away letting Harry into his closet. Zayn steps away slowly, making his way over to his unmade bed where plops himself down, still watching Harry. Harry emerges from the closet with a bundle of shirts in his hands and glares down at Zayn.

“You really should clean up. Also, you look like shite.”

“Okay,” Zayn murmurs.

“Okay,” Harry repeats, rolling his eyes. He steps back into the closet, out of Zayn’s sight.

“Work must be stressing you out,” Zayn raises his voice a little.

“It is,” Harry replies emerging again with more shirts. “And how is sitting at your desk, smoking weed all day and listening to Tame Impala treating you?”

“Freelancing is going great, thanks.” Zayn turns and casts an eye around his apartment, seeing it through Harry’s eyes for the first time. He looks back at Harry as he’s putting a blue shirt into his bag.

“That’s mine,” Zayn grunts.

“No it’s not, I bought it.” Harry retorts.

“Yeah, for me. On New Years.”

Harry shoves the shirt into his bag, shaking his head.

“Well, thanks for stopping by. You can leave now,” Zayn barks, aware of a lump forming in his throat.

Harry stops rummaging with his bag and scowls at Zayn.

“Did you give my number to some loser that you fucked yesterday?”

Zayn swallows, pushing past his weaker emotions, remembers to be angry.

“Oh, did he get in touch with you?” He smirks, laughing at Harry’s disbelieving expression.

“Unbelievable.” Harry looks at the ceiling trying to find some resolve within himself. He takes a shaky breath and faces Zayn head on.

  
“Look, Zayn. I know that things got fucked and I said a lot of mean things to try to hurt you, but I just wanted you to know that I meant all of them.”

Zayn eyes lower to the ground and his chest tightens. Harry lets out a wry chuckle and continues.

“You’re poison.”

He turns on his heels and strides out of the room without another word.

**Author's Note:**

> no niall yet, but he'll be in the next chapter for sure. (i'll be doing a chapter per episode, more or less)
> 
> currently in the middle of finals right now, so bear with me for the next chapter


End file.
